


Into the Black

by RaccoonMama



Series: Walter 2183 [1]
Category: Mass Effect, Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:27:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaccoonMama/pseuds/RaccoonMama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly three-hundred years after Peter Walter I built his beloved steam man band, the Walter legacy is all but vanished and the automatons nothing but a memory. But there are secrets being kept in the darkest corners, and the last remaining Walter heir - a young man by the name of Alexander Walter - may change everything…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_March, 2183_

Jon Grissom Academy. It was home to many of the greatest young minds of the century, and while it was mostly known for the prestigious Ascension Program for young human biotics, it also featured extensive programs for the extraordinarily brilliant. One such student was Alexander Walter.

While he had technically just graduated a half year prior, Alexander remained at the school mostly because he enjoyed it there. Much better than his home environment; he loved his parents dearly, but they had little idea how to handle a son whose intellect far surpassed either one of them. He’d heard stories that his family had a history of such genius, mostly in old paperwork around his parents’ home on the Citadel, but he wasn’t sure it was so true.

There were many ways he could apply his talents that weren’t to rumors and whispers of truth, anyway. The Citadel Council had sought his technological prowess for their own use, on top of multiple very prestigious tech corporations and the Alliance Military. Sure, things sometimes went a little “weird” with his projects... but that tended to be written off easily as the quirks of genius.

He scoffed a bit, poking through his notebooks for the blueprints for his latest project. He just couldn’t see himself wasting his life writing VI interfaces for people who barely appreciated his skill to start.

“Beating yourself up over life, the universe, and everything once again, Alexander?”

And then there was the distraction.

It wasn’t that Marian Curtis was an unattractive young woman; she really wasn’t. She was small and slight, with thick hair twisted in a delicate braid circling the crown of her head. As willowy as she was, it was a shock to some people that she displayed the amount of biotic skill she did, capable of unleashing devastating power from her fingertips from the moment those emerald eyes started to glow.

“I’m not beating myself up,” Alex murmured. “I’m trying to focus on this project.”

She rolled her eyes at him, leaning around his arm to look at the datapad he was holding. “Another VI? You’re so much smarter than writing VIs.” 

That drew a frown out of him and he curled his shoulders forward just slightly. “Mar, we've been over this a thousand times if not more. I appreciate your family's offer, but I'm not interested.”

The young woman leaned forward to look up at him with a frown. “You can't really mean all that. Surely you can see more in your life than this.” At that, she tapped the datapad in his hand one finger. “Writing VI interfaces for the council. They only want what you can do; they've no mind at all for the man you are.”

He scowled, jerking his head up. The way his dark hair fell into those wild, vivid eyes made him look so like the man in the pictures she'd seen, disheveled and distraught... the image of a main who had nothing to lose.

They did have an age difference. Alexander was nearing seventeen, while she had just turned fifteen. A very old fifteen, she felt sometimes. Her parents' unusual allegiances had led her to having to grow up quickly just to survive in that kind of world. Not that she wasn't childish at times, or prone to childish affection. And for all his unease about so much, for all his misgivings, Alex was a young man worthy of it.

The old pictures of the men in his line did none of them justice. They did not have faces that were lent well to canvas or photograph. He, like so many in his family before him, carried a strong jaw and wild eyes, their color not unlike that brief, fleeting glimpse of electric blue on the horizon, just before dawn. For eyes so very wild, they had the feeling of this unmistakable, brilliant calm.

But then there was that sorrow. She couldn't recall a time that she had ever seen him smile, and now looking at him, she worried she never would. Not with the way the wind was changing. She leaned back, going to try to say something, to change his mind, but he just shook his head and stood up, shoving the datapad into a satchel he carried across his shoulder. “I'll see you around, Mar.”

She frowned, quietly watching as he departed. If only things could've been different...

* * *

“Well, Alex, that certainly went well.” The young man scowled, heading up the hallway to the dorm rooms. “Hey, there's this girl you like. Let's just brush her off at every opportunity.” His lips tightened into a thin line, his attention so focused on the floor in front of him as he stalked along that he did not notice the unfamiliar woman in the garb of a faculty member, even when she turned to glance at him over her shoulder, quiet and thoughtful. “Or better yet, make yourself out to be even more of a weird recluse than everyone things you are. Apparently being really ass at dealing with women is the only thing in the Walter legacy that's true...”

He sighed deeply, running one hand back through his hair, shoulders slumped as he finally stopped in front of his door. He let his forehead drop against it, reaching for his keycard, and it was only then that he heard the clicking of heels that stopped right behind him. “Peter A. Walter XIII... am I correct?”

Alex did not look up at the woman's voice. His hand remained in his bag, digging for the missing keycard. Where could he possibly have left it? Had he left it with Marian? No, she would've called...

It wasn't until the woman cleared her throat behind him, loudly, that he acknowledged her presence with a weary sigh and a droop of his shoulders. “Sorry. I thought you were talking to someone else.”

The woman actually looked a bit amused at his statement, the corners of her lips turning up in a smile. “My mistake, then. I thought I was speaking with the technological prodigy Peter Alexander Walter.”

“Sorry, lady, no Peters here.” He pulled something out of his bag, bringing it up to look at it before sighing again and returning to his search. “Now do you mind? I'd like to lay down.”

“Well, they certainly weren't kidding when they said you were a charmer.” The woman smiled again, reaching up to brush her dark hair out of her face. “You're not going to find it, by the way.”

Alex hesitated, then lifted his head to look at her, scowling. “Why?”

Perhaps much later, the young man would have looked back at this moment and realized how blind he had been. But for the time, he just stood very straight when she held up the keycard in question, still smiling gently. “Because I want you to listen to my proposition. My name is Miranda Lawson, and if you're half as smart as everyone says, you'll listen to reason.”

His bluster was fairly impotent, though his eyebrows still drew in sharply when he realized what she was holding. “Wait- hold on a tick, how the hell did you-”

The young man was already reaching for the card as he spoke, but Miranda pulled it just out of his reach, tipping her head forward just slightly. “You are far too distracted. Had you been paying attention, this card wouldn't presently be in my possession. Now. Let's talk.”

Though he did not want to admit defeat, Alex sighed through his nose, lips tightening once more. “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

“It's very simple. Basic, really. You are the last competent surviving member of a line of engineers whose legacy dates back to the late nineteenth century. For all you deny what your real name is, /Alexander/... there are many people who would take advantage of knowing who you really are. Which is why I'm here.” When he just gave her a skeptical look, she kept talking. “I work for an organization I'm certain young miss Curtis has hinted at many times to you, and I'm here with a proposition. We have in our possession three marvels of engineering, built by your many times great grandfather in San Diego, California, roughly around 1896. You are the only person alive right now who could fix them.”

For a fleeting moment, the thought was tempting. The opportunity to be away from here. To be somewhere that his work was respected, even admired! A place where being named Peter Walter did not come with the stigma of a numeral tacked onto the end?

The risks, though...

His brow furrowed. “I'm not working with Cerberus.”

A look of surprise briefly crossed Miranda's face before she schooled it, folding her arms across her stomach. “You're certain you won't reconsider?”

“Did I stutter, lady? Allow me to elaborate upon my point in a manner that may be a bit more easily digestible: I won't. Work. With terrorists.”

The long-suffering sigh she gave caused Alex to grimace slightly, but she did hand his keycard back, patting his hand lightly. “I suppose it takes more than a couple of pretty girls to persuade a smart boy like you. Enjoy your nap, Peter.”

Alex groaned through his teeth as she walked away, rubbing his face with one hand as he ran his keycard through the slide with the other. Good riddance, anyway.

The thoughts died in his head a moment later. He didn't see anyone in the room, though that had been exactly as they had wanted it. The first man had him by the arm and flung into the opposite wall before he could really pinpoint what was happening, a sharp cry pressed out of his lungs when the impact knocked the wind out of him. He tried to turn on his attackers, but more only came as someone slipped into his room before closing and locking the door.

For all his height, he couldn't get any kind of decent grip or leeway. They grappled with him and pinned him, bruising and cutting his arms, back, and face as they did, and his strangled cry cut short moments later when the butt of a rifle connected with the side of his head.

The young prodigy slumped, the words of the woman from before the last thing that he heard:

“Package is secure. We are ready for pick up.”

* * *

The next time Alex woke up was in some kind of medical ward, being treated by doctors that spoke in cold tones and behaved as though he was just another experience. After that, his lodgings had been a much more comfortable room, but it made him no less uneasy.

He was exhausted. It wasn't the normal sort of exhausted, either; he was tired beyond words, emotionally and physically. When he had woken up the day before in that sterile hospital room, he had at first thought an overdose of stimulants was to blame once again. Then he'd seen the symbols on the wall... the insignias that pointed to one disturbing truth.

Cerberus had him.

Today he was sitting in fresh clothes in a small conference room, his hair washed and combed, the injuries on his face, earned during the brief scuffle in his dorm at the academy, slathered with medigel and stapled, stitched, or patched. He was not amused.

The door across from where he sat hissed open after far too long a time of waiting, and a portly man stepped in, hair greased back firmly and wearing a fine suit of black and an eye-searing electric green. The pattern, as well as the logo neatly embroidered onto a breast pocket, were easy for him to recognize. After all, who in the galaxy DIDN'T know about BecileTech?

“Peter Alexander Walter XIII. Your father hid you well, for not “buying into” his family's legacy.” The older man watched as Alexander's eyes narrowed. “Ah yes, I forgot. You go by Alexander Peter. Well, no matter.” He smiled, striding around the table to offer a swollen, damp hand to the young man. “Atticus Becile. I'm certain you've heard of me.”

Alex did not lift his hand to shake. “I'm a Walter. Even if my father didn't talk much about the “legacy,” he still knew the Beciles were trouble.”

The man hesitated a moment before he finally withdrew his hand, letting out a quiet hmph before adjusting his suit jacket. “Ah, that old Walter stubbornness. I'm glad one of you still has it! It is... such a terrible pity, Alexander, that your father was so adverse to your intellect and skill.” With one hand, he motioned, and when Alex did not stand right away, he gave him a steely look. Understanding that his resistance would not be tolerated now, the young man stood shakily and followed the older man. “You see, he didn't want anything to do with the fantastic discovery old Peter Eleven was trying to protect... which is why you're here today. You have a rare gift, and it's time for you to come into your own. Help me reverse engineer these machines and I promise you, Alexander... things will look up for you.”

Alex was only half listening as they walked, glancing at the rows of doors they passed, though he did take the time to look marginally surprised when they stopped. There were no other doors in this corridor. Just this one, with many symbols indicating caution. “...you cant' be serious.”

“As the grave, my dear boy.” Atticus turned, keying in a code to unlock the door. It swung open and the heavy man moved aside to let Alex pass. “As the grave.”

The room itself was dimly lit, and for a moment, Alex thought he was imagining the pin pricks of light focusing on him from the other side of the room. One pair an eerie, electric green, reflected from a face like silver, and the third pinprick was also green, the face it illuminated like an old penny in some dilapidated museum. Still a fourth was such a clear blue, like a pool of deep, clean water...

Then, the lights came up.

He stood, stunned, when he saw them. They were at the same time ancient and beautiful, watching him like caged animals, wary and silent. “...they were only stories...”

Atticus gave a grim chuckle, clapping Alex on the shoulder so hard that he winced. “No, no, my dear boy. These are those old machines your many times great grandfather built. All you have to do... is figure out how they tick.”

“...but... they're ancient!” The boy sounded unsure, and now he didn't even know if he was protesting out of fear or concern. “Anything I do could break them, and this kind of craftsmanship-”

“Is old hat, Alexander. These things are three-hundred years old. Hardly even worth your worry.” He gave a grin, eyes showing no reflection of the smile. “I'll leave you to get acquainted with their frames.”

The man stepped out, and Alex just stood in stunned silence as the two automatons watched him, the old copper one and the one with the clear blue eyes hovering protectively over the frame of a fourth, which did not move.

“Uh...” He swallowed once, hard. “...my...” They were watching him. Waiting. Something in his head clicked, and he stood just that much straighter, uncertain but positive this was what they wanted. “...my name is Peter Alexander Walter XIII. I'm... I'm here to fix you.”


	2. Chapter 2

For moment, none of the automatons functioning said anything to the young man. They exchanged wary glances, and the copper one – despite her lack of lower jaw – managed a fairly fierce glare at the young human in front of him.

Alexander swallowed hard. This wasn't what he had been expecting at all. Machines would look at you, sure, and some could even be considered to have thoughts and feelings... but this? This was something else altogether. He was about to speak, when the silver one – something of a pained expression taking over his carefully crafted face as he lifted a hand to press to the oxidized automaton's chest – finally spoke.

“You certainly look like a Walter. Though forgive me if it's hard for us to believe that you're here to help at all.”

His voice was deep, habitually lacking in seriousness despite the depth of the situation. And yet, it was still overpowering, hitting with the force of a biotic's full strength shockwave squarely to the chest, vibrating in his ears and mind. It must have been, he thought, like staring into a very deep pool, so clear that the bottom was obscured. How one entity, speaking so softly, could have such a rich voice, dipped in dark and thunder... how he could sound so human, and yet inhuman, all at once.

The automaton almost didn't sound real.

It was authoritative, exaggerated, making him seem larger than life even in his damaged state. For several moments, Alexander felt breathless.

He let the moment pass as best he could, and then he swallowed. “Uh. I'm... I'm sorry. I understand you've all been through... quite a lot.”

The robot with the stovepipe on his hat snorted, steam shooting from the pipe with a little whistle. “That is what too ma-ny have said a-bout us in the past.” The odd little orange mustache twitched, his voice halting as it seemed to try to break out of its strangely melodic monotone. “We are not so quick to trust stran-gers these days.”

“Ah- yes. I can definitely understand that...” What had he been thrown into? “So. Uh. Oh, where to start... do you all have names...?”

It was the silver automaton that nodded, his face still contorted into an expression of pain. “We do. I'm The Spine. The one with the mustache is Hatchworth, the copper one is Rabbit, and the little one...” His voice hitched in what Alexander swore was a brief expression of sorrow. “That's The Jon.”

Slowly, the young man nodded, walking forward carefully. It was so odd to hear such a thick, rich, powerful voice come out of such a desolate and broken being, sorrow written in the oddly malleable plates of his face. “What all is broken? What do you need me to do?”

None of them responded. Aside from the steady ticking of antique clockwork and faint hissing of steam, only Alexander's breathing filled the empty air. The Spine stiffened the closer the young man drew, until the nervous young man was standing over him, watching as Rabbit and Hatchworth gazed at him, distrustful and worried.

The Spine shifted, keeping his focus entirely on Alexander. “You'd have to ask them. They have all our scans and blueprints-”

“Well, what if I don't want to ask them?” His interruption caused all three functioning automatons to start a bit, blinking at him in confusion. “I'm serious. If they did this to you, I don't trust them to be entirely honest about the severity of your damage. This goes far beyond what they brought me here to do... and maybe I wasn't interested in their offer to begin with.”

Again, the robots fell silent, but at last, Rabbit reached forward and took Alexander's wrist, moving his hand until it rested on the Spine's shoulder. She stayed that way, watching until the young Walter nodded, slowly. The Spine furrowed his brow. “What...?”

Alexander looked up slightly. “I... think she wants me to fix you first.”

“What-? No!” The Spine's head turned sharply, glaring up Rabbit. “No, that won't work. Rabbit, your jaw-” The oldest automaton shook her head in reply, patting where Alexander's hand was resting on his shoulder. “...how do we even know we can trust him, Rabbit?!”

Though stricken by the words, Alexander drew in and let out a deep breath. “Well. I guess none of us really has a choice... do we?”

* * *

“What a peculiar young man.” Atticus was standing near a screen, watching the automatons as they interacted with the boy. “Should be no real difficulty in manipulating him. Well done, Miss Lawson... please give my regards to the Illusive Man.”

The dark haired woman gave a faint nod, looking up at the screen. There was a sense of discomfort in her stomach, like a hot rock. Something she had learned long ago to ignore. “Just be certain to report the results he has with the automatons.”

He chuckled a bit, straightening his tie. “Oh, I will be certain to, Miss Lawson. He's absolutely brilliant...”

“Very few his equal, as humans go. His IQ range falls between 160 and 170...” she mused, the corners of her lips twitching in a faint smile. “Higher, I understand, than your prodigy of a grandson.”

Atticus stiffened, refusing to look at her even after her comment. “Benedict is a fine, brilliant young man... and intelligence isn't everything.”

Shrugging a bit, Miranda smiled and stepped forward. “I suppose you're right. Oh... and just so you know, Mister Becile, I will be your liaison for this project. Your reports, whatever he finds and whatever progress he makes, will be filtered directly through me. Remember, this is an important project. Those automatons were created when mankind should not have had the technology to make them sing, let alone the technology to make them think.” She rolled her shoulders, tipping her head slightly to one side. “I have a feeling we are on the precipice of something extraordinary.”

“I would have to agree with you, Miss Lawson.” Atticus gave a sharp nod, hooking his thumbs on his lapel. “If the boy doesn't go mad in the process.”

This time, Miranda's eyes narrowed, and she turned sharply on her heel to focus her gaze on Atticus. “Keep in mind, Atticus: this boy is a very valuable asset. He suffers from an exceptionally fragile mental state, according to his school records. If you break him, it's on your head.”

The two were silent for a moment, with Atticus looking up at Miranda. At last, the man snorted a bit. “Well. I suppose I shall have to tread lightly...” Miranda nodded at him, turning to leave the room. As the click of her heels faded down the hallway, the old man laughed, stroking his mustache lightly. “For now.”

* * *

Down the hallway, Miranda was quietly opening her omnitool, bringing up an encrypted channel. She cleared her throat as the man on the other end began to speak. “I do hope you have good news for me, Miranda.”

“Yes and no, sir,” she replied, free hand brushing her hair over her shoulder. “We've found Peter Walter the Eleventh's grandson... though he suffers from several severe and debilitating mental disorders. The father was a bust; he's a bloody fool. Our records indicate he put his son to Grissom Academy simply because he didn't know how to manage such a startling intellect.”

The Illusive Man gave a rare chuckle at this. “Well. Seems to me that the Beciles still have no idea quite what we're dealing with. How long until we have information on these mysterious matters?”

The woman paused to lean against a nearby wall, making a thoughtful sound. “It may be some time until we know about the green matter. We'll have to get someone to San Diego to... have a talk with the senior Becile's grandson, who is currently running the company.”

“At seventeen? My, that is an achievement.” There was a clicking sound over the line, like a lighter. “I'll see who we have available to get to San Diego. And Miranda... I know you'll be on site for a while, but keep an ear open. I know you remember our conversation about Commander Shepard. I may have a new assignment coming up for you soon, regarding her.”

Miranda nodded a bit. “Of course, sir. I'll keep you posted as to our progress. Miranda out.”

As the line closed, she sighed a bit, tightening her lips. This was going to be considerably more difficult than she suspected.

* * *

The news article read very plainly, though the young man reading it didn't seem to think so. He didn't lift his head from the datapad, lifting one hand to motion forward a man standing near him. “Geoffrey. When did this article come through the lines?”

“Yesterday, Mister Becile.”

The young man's frown deepened as he lifted one hand to push back through his thick, reddish hair. “Just get a load of this. I can't believe it. “Technological prodigy Peter Alexander Walter the Thirteenth missing from Jon Grissom Academy. Alliance authorities are baffled.” Alex is- how do they just lose him?! He rarely left the labs!” He shook his head sharply. “This is utter madness. “School officials indicate his last correspondence was a brief argument over the extranet with former school rival Benedict Norman Becile, current heir to Becile Industries and Technology, whose family has been known to suffer a longstanding feud with the Walter Family. Becile graduated on the same day as Walter, but left the school to return to San Diego to take over his grandfather's reins at the company. Despite this fact, the Alliance does not believe Becile is involved in the case and the lead is not being pursued further.” I should certainly hope not! We may've been old school rivals, but that was all... well it was all in good fun; I would never hurt Alex. He's absolutely brilliant! Old family rivalry... Granddad was always a bit barmy... I never once bought into all that malarkey.”

Tossing his datapad aside, Benedict stood, hands folded behind his back as he began to pace. The man he had motioned to before cleared his throat a bit. “Ah... Mister Becile...?”

“This simply will not do. Geoffrey, arrange a press conference for me. I need to make certain that people know I had no hand in Alex's disappearance. Beyond that, I want to try to reach his family. Donate funds to his safe recovery.” He let out a deep sigh, both hands buried in his hair now. “God, poor Marian. She adored Alex. Why, she must be positively beside herself with worry. Dreadful news, this. ...well snap to it, Geoffrey! Chop chop! There's not a moment to lose. We are not my many times great grandfathers. Rivals we may have been, but Alex is a brilliant mind and one of the few men I consider a friend.”

After a startled pause, Geoffrey nodded. “Of course, Mister Becile. I shall call for a press conference right away. Is there anything else?”

Benedict paused, blinking a few times. “See if you can contact Miss Marian Curtis. I at least want to see that she's all right.”

“Right away sir. I'll see myself out.”

The man nodded his head forward, immediately heading straight out the door to leave the young Becile standing in silence in the center of the room, staring at the datapad on the floor. “Oh, Alex, what have you gotten yourself into...?”


End file.
